Live Like You Were Dying
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: Sherlolly: Molly finds out she's dying, and Sherlock is determined to help her live out some of things she's always wanted to do. Prompt from Benedict-Addict Holmes, whom I love! ALSO MY 50TH FANFICTION! YAAAAY FOR 50! (Rating Is for Mild Language...and will possibly change later on)
1. Chapter 1

Well then, this is a long overdue prompt fill for my dear Aditi, who has been so lovely a friend. :) Sorry it's taken so long, love. Hope you enjoy this! I'm thinking it'll be a few chapters, so...yea. Oh, and in case nobody noticed, which I hadn't even either, Aditi pointed it out to me...**THIS IS MY 50TH FANFICTION! **

**WOW! That's a bit hard to believe. lol. anyway, YAY FOR 50 FICS! **

ENJOY!

**I do not own anyone/thing relating to the BBC, Sherlock Holmes, or otherwise.**

**That is all.**

**Live Like You Were Dying:**

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

It was supposed to be a normal, routine physical. All of her vitals were fine, and she had aced the reflex test with flying colors. So, when it came to overhearing Mike Stamford on the phone, describing what could _only_ be cancer, and then describing someone that could _only_ be her, Molly was shocked.

OoOo

Molly had been passing by Mike's office, really just on her way to her own in the long line of spaces. She had stopped upon hearing her surname.

"Yes, Hooper. 32, she's the head pathologist here. Petite thing, sweet girl. No, no I haven't told her yet." He sighed heavily, and Molly peeked in to see his somber expression.

"No, the spots were far more solid than anything like that. I just, I don't know how to tell her. She's so young, ya know? Bright young thing, helps a lot around here." Molly gasped as she heard him discussing with the other person on the phone. Mike looked up at the sound, and saw her widened eyes, already tearing up. He murmured to the other person, and stood up.

"Yea, Tom, I've got to call you back. Right, thanks.' Oh Christ, Molly. Wait, come inside." He motioned for her to take a seat. However, a brusque shake of her head told him she wasn't in the mood to talk.

"I...I'm just going to take some...time off. If that's o-okay." She mumbled. Mike nodded his head, and had moved to give her a sympathetic hug. However, Molly had already turned and was swiftly making her way down the hall and toward the exit.

OoOo

That had been two days ago, and Molly had still been curled up in her duvet. Mike had called, naturally wanting to check on her, but more importantly, wanting to ask her if she'd considered the options.

"I...I don't want treatment. I watched my dad go through that. I saw how sick it made him. I don't want to go through that again." She spoke softly, trying her hardest to sound marginally okay.

"Of course. I forgot about your dad, Molly. I'm so sorry. I- if you want to come in, we can sit down and figure this out together. Ya know, go through the other options that don't require such a harsh treatment. I just hate to see you give up. Please?" Molly had to smile at how sweet the man always was. Even in the darkest of times, Mike Stamford brought a certain light to situations. So, despite her desire to spend another two days in bed hibernating, she agreed to return to Bart's.

OoOo

"What do you mean she's out sick? This is Molly Hooper we're talking about. She hardly took off when her mother came for a visit from the States." Sherlock was, in a word, annoyed. The current pathologist was anything but competent, and had already proven to the detective that he was quite ignorant on more than the topic of Molly Hooper.

"Look, all's I know is she went home early two days ago, and Dr. Stamford called me in to cover for her. Can I _please_ go back to my paperwork now?" The young man asked with his hand held open, awaiting Sherlock to return the file he'd snatched away moments earlier. Sherlock scoffed, before tossing the file back onto the table in front of the younger man. He turned to leave, walking quickly to the door of the lab.

"By the way, it wasn't a heart attack. Check the toxicology report again." He said as a parting thought.

OoOo

Molly had been sitting in Mike's office for the past two hours, not really listening to anything he had to say.

"At least consider the surgery. The spots weren't too large, and chances are they can go in and hopefully remove them all without damaging too much of the living tissue. Molly?" Mike waved a bit, trying to draw her attention back to the conversation. She started, and gave him a weak nod.

"Yea, I... I'll think about it. Thanks, Mike." Molly smiled a bit, and stood up. As she turned the knob on the door, her face ran into the chest of none other than Sherlock Holmes. _'Great.'_ She thought to herself.

He looked over her tired features, noting how sullen her face was, the dark circles prominent under her eyes. He then shot a look to Mike. '_Sad expression, stress points pronounced on his forehead. Bad news. Paperwork on his desk is newly printed; research. Manilla file beneath has Molly's name on it...oh.'_ Sherlock's mind stopped immediately, wiping away the growing web of deductions that had spread throughout it.

"What is it?" He looked directly at Molly, who whimpered, before lightly brushing past him.

"Excuse me." She mumbled, leaving Sherlock to get his answers from Mike. He turned to watch her go, before turning again, this time to meet the gaze of his shorter friend. The stout doctor shrugged a bit, before motioning for the detective to sit down.

"Listen, Sherlock...it's not...well...Well it's not good." Sherlock's brow furrowed, and he sat down slowly.

OoOo

Another few hours had passed, and Molly was back at home, looking over some of the research that Mike had given her. She sighed, and picked up the mug of tea she had set aside previously. A long sip had slowly gone down her throat, and suddenly there was a sharp knock on the door. Nearly choking on her drink, she stood up, and walked to the door. No sooner did she open the door, when Sherlock breezed in past her.

"Sh...Sherlock? What are you doing here?" Molly asked, almost bewildered at the speed he was currently pacing back and forth in her living room. He seemed on edge, which unnerved her terribly. As she approached him, she tried to halt his actions.

"Sherlock?" She asked quietly, her hand brushing his arm as he whizzed by. Sherlock turned to face her, and she caught the clearly distraught look in his crystal blue eyes. His gaze was fierce, nearing panic.

"Molly, you are _not_ allowed to die. You'll have the surgery, or chemotherapy, radiation, whatever it takes. I will not let you leave me to suffer the incompetence of those sub-par pathologists." He snapped at her quickly, before sighing as he realized how harsh he had sounded. Molly's eyes widened, before he saw her anger flare to light.

"What? I'm sorry, I'm not 'allowed' to die without your permission? Is that it, Sherlock? You know, if you ever paid attention to my life, you'd understand my reservations about getting therapy treatments for...for whatever the hell this is!" She charged toward him, her finger poking into his chest hard. Sherlock was smart, and moved back as she pushed him back. She wasn't done though.

"You think I _want_ to die young? I haven't done anything with myself! My life has literally been about getting up, going to work, catering to _you_, and then coming home, hating myself, wondering when my life will get more interesting. I wanted to do so many things! So excuse me, Mister High-and-Mighty, for inconveniencing your damned experiments with _my_ dying! I'll try to make it quick and painless for the both of us." Molly bit out her words coldly, before slamming the door in his face. Sherlock hadn't even realized he'd been pushed out into the hall of her floor, until he was looking at the painted wood of her front door. On the other side, he could hear the muffled sound of her sobs, no doubt racking her small body. Sherlock sighed out, feeling that huge pit of guilt that had ripped through him, just a few Christmases ago.

A knock came again from the opposite side of the door that Molly was leaning against. She shuddered a bit, before sniffling.

"Go away, Sherlock." she murmured.

"What things?" He asked. Molly's face scrunched up with confusion. She turned, facing the door, and remained silent as she contemplated his words. Her silence prompted him to speak again.

"You said you wanted to do so many things. What sort of things, Molly?" Sherlock's voice cut through the door crisply, and Molly became even more confused as to why this man, _this man_ of all people, would want to know. She opened the door again, and looked up to him.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Please, Molly...I... It's very clear to me that I've been a large burden on your life. I'd like to make up for that." At his words, Molly immediately felt terrible for what she had said about him. She looked up to him through shining eyes, and then opened the door a bit more.

"Do you want coffee?" She asks quietly, giving him a weak smile. Sherlock smiles back at her a bit, before walking back into her flat.

"Sure, and then we can discuss these 'things' you've been wanting to do." He gives her a smirk, which lights up her face even more.

"Okay, whatever you say." Molly answers, turning before her excited smile shows. The widening grin does not go missed by the observant man.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Well, there ya go...Chapter 1 is done! I think this will probably be split into 3 or 4 chapters, maybe 5...but we shall see. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it...let me know what you think...OOH! AND, how about this...audience participation time...

tell me something you've always wanted to do, but haven't ever done before. BUCKET LISTS! I LOVE THEM SO! :D

Love you all, my dears!


	2. Chapter 2

Wow! Such a wonderful response to this story! Thank you all so much! K, I'm going to do something I haven't done in AGES, because this story has a lot of reader feedback...and it helps me with some of the ideas immensely!...**SHOUT OUTS!**

**Rocking the Redhead: **Thank you for such lovely bucket list options. Meteor showers really are gorgeous, and I hope you get to see one. I also might be using one of your ideas later on...but I'm not saying which. :D

**Flyaway213: **That..sounds...AWESOME! I live in the Midwest, why didn't I ever think of this as a kid? Genius!

**Anatomydoc: **Sigh, you and me both, doc, you and me both. *stares dreamily across the pond*

**Catherine 'Kate' Grace: **Aw, yay Egypt...and wait...you've never like...been swimming at the beach...EVER?! Oh..oh my...yes. FIX THAT PROBLEM!

**Benedict-Addict Holmes: **Teehee, I'm sure you already know that we share those same dreams...but even so, I TOTALLY AGREE! And Yay, I'm so glad you like it so far! XD LOVE YOU!

**Mythlover20: **Wow, those are all really cool things! I didn't know you were a dancer! THAT'S AWESOME! I can do typical wedding dances...like the Chicken dance, and the electric slide...oh, and some polka dances...lol. (YAY BEING FROM A GERMAN FAMILY!) Anyway, great ideas love, I hope those all come true for you! :D

**Lenuca: **ROPE SWINGS! TERRIFYING FUN! Lol...and thank you! I hope I don't make you cry **too** much...but yea, some tears are what I'm aiming for. :D I know, I'm terrible.

**Lonerism: **ooh, bungee jumping, that's a bit scary...but I could see how some would like it. And AAWW BABY TIGERS! So cute at that size. :D and HUGGING BENEDICT... I think that's on EVERYONE'S bucketlist. ;)

**Semul: **oooh...K, so...I'm probably going to use one of these..or something similar to one of them...because those ARE beautiful, and such lovely things to want to experience. :D

**SJ3GIRL: **Whoa...whoa really? I think you're forgetting Sir ACD...I think He's got to be number 1...and then Mof/tiss...but even still...I'm your favorite? :') …. that makes me a bit emotional...and wish you were closer so I could give you a big hug! :D thank you!

**Beth-Taurichick: **Lol, there are no guarantees that this is a happy fic...no guarantees at all. Mwahaha, oh, um...I mean...thanks!

**SammyKatz:**Oh God! WHY WOULD YOU GIVE ME THAT MENTAL IMAGE? Lol. Thanks love, thanks.

**KendraPendragon: **lol please, no need to bow, but thanks! And thank you for the kind review!

**Potix: **CUDDLING A SLOTH! OH MY GOSH, I WANT TO DO THAT TOO! teehee, thanks for the ideas!

**Renaissancebooklover108: **Good, I'm glad you are interested. :D I hope it remains...interesting for you.

**MizJoely: **:) Thank you! And it's okay not to have a bucket list. That's actually pretty fantastic, that you can have that level of happiness with the blessings you have been granted. CONGRATS TO YOU ON FINDING THAT!

**Icebabe59: **Me neither. ;)

**AdaYuki: **lol...thanks! Oh skydiving, you are a very popular thing apparently.

**AvatardSherlockian: **Well thank you! I do love the prompts that she gives me, they're fantastic!

**Hermione-Amelia-Rose1479: **lol COME BACK! Hugs* Happy Birthday!

**Miss Wholock Shipper: **Well, thank you! :D

**Almightyswot: **Ooh, fancy and beautiful sounding one there, my dear. Hrmmmm, may have to visit that somehow. ;) Thanks!

Alrighty then, anyway, onto the next chapter! Discussing the 'things'...and doing some of them. :D

**Keep in mind, I do NOT own any of the characters/places/things/etc... I am just the writer. :D**

**ENJOY!**

**Oh, and IT'S ADITI'S BIRTHDAY! YAAAAAYY! Happy birthday, my lovely friend! I hope you had an amazing time! Save me some of that cake, because it looked delicious!**

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"What do you mean you've never seen the symphony before? Write that one down! You know, for claiming that you wanted to do 'so many things', you really have a very small list." Sherlock was currently pacing back and forth in front of Molly's small sofa. The woman herself was currently sitting on the floor, legs tucked up under her small coffee table. She chuckled a bit as she wrote down another thing on the notebook.

"Well, most of the things I want to do are...well, impractical. I mean, everyone has to say they want to go skydiving, right? But I just...that's not really _me._" Molly answered, shrugging her shoulders a bit. As she looked at the small list of things that had been discussed in the past two hours, she realized that Sherlock was right, she really didn't have many things on her list that she had come up with. There had to be _something_, right? Anything.

"Well, we'll go and see the symphony. I will not let that escape your life's experiences. Now, how about holidays? Have you ever wanted to go on one of those awful cruise ships? Perhaps take a vagabond's disposition, and backpack across a foreign country?" Molly rolled her eyes, taking in the obvious sarcasm dripping from his velvet voice. She looked up to give him a scolding look, but was met with a boyish smirk.

"No, not really. Maybe go and see some of the places my dad got to visit when he was a boy." Molly smiled fondly as she delved into the memories of her father's tales. "His Gran raised him, and she would take him some place new in the country every summer. Actually, that's not a bad..." her voice cut off, and she began writing furiously. Sherlock had stopped in his pacing, and looked down over her as she scribbled down the words. When she finished, he looked at her with a curious expression.

"Camping? You want to go camping?" Sherlock looked at her. She had to laugh at the incredulous look on his face.

"Yes. And _not_ camping how people do it now. My dad said that camping, at least to him, was a way to get back in touch with nature, and that you couldn't do that with 'all this bloody technology about'." She had spoken so lovingly about the memory of her dad, even attempting her best impression of him. Sherlock hadn't realized just how important Albert Hooper was to his daughter. He let out a sigh, and nodded his head.

"Very well, then. Camping without the resources...er...distraction, of technology." He answered with a tight grin. Molly smiled sweetly at his discomfort.

OoOo

They had talked well into the night, and finally, Sherlock was satisfied with the small, but interesting list that they had comprised. Well, he had, mostly, but she had added one or two things. He looked over to her, to find her asleep on the opposite end of the sofa, tightly curled up into a ball. She looked so small to him. Carefully, Sherlock made his way over to her, pulling her up and into his arms, and carrying her down the short hallway to her bedroom. Having placed her on her bed, he pulled the large duvet over her, and quietly left.

As he walked to the door to leave her flat, Sherlock glanced to the notebook of ideas. He smiled a bit to himself, and grabbed it, before leaving.

OoOo

"What do you mean, 'they aren't in season?' What sort of ridiculous rubbish is that?" Sherlock's voice echoed loudly through the halls and off the walls of 221B. John, who had been sitting by, idly sipping his tea, jumped at the sudden sound. He looked up, to see Sherlock hanging up his phone, with a very perturbed look about him.

"What's that all about, then?" John asked, afraid of finding the answer. His friend, looked up, and opened his mouth to speak, before clamming it shut once more.

"Nothing. It's nothing." Came the short reply. Soon enough, the detective was typing away on his phone, angrily swiping his thumbs over the keys. John rolled his eyes, brushing off the mood that his flatmate had taken up for the day.

Moments later, an incoming call buzzed Sherlock's phone, and he answered it quickly.

"Yes, Mycroft. I need a favor. Don't ask details, just put in a few phone calls." He demanded, which made John glance back up from his morning paper, curious as to what Sherlock was up to that made him so frank with Mycroft out of the blue.

OoOo

When Molly had received his text earlier in the afternoon, she had been wholly confused as to its meaning.

_Just let them take care of you, and I'll meet you at 7. -SH_

However, as the day progressed, she was beginning to understand who 'they' were, at least she had one half of the text deciphered. The first thing had been a delivery boy, no older than 16, if she had to guess. He held up a large garment bag, and smiled at her.

"You're supposed to wear this, he said, but don't put it on just yet." The boy spoke, handing the bag over to Molly. She took it, and turned to fish out a tip for him. He held up his hand, and shook his head.

"No no. He said you'd want to do that, and said I was supposed to refuse. It's okay, Miss, he already paid me. Have fun, whatever you're doing." The boy smiled again, and was soon walking down the hall. Molly smiled a bit, before turning around and shutting her door. No sooner did she place the garment bag over the back of her sofa, when another knock at her door came.

This had been two ladies, both looking quite chic. Molly eyed them warily, as they sort of forcefully made their way into her flat.

"Right, 'e says you're supposed to let us do ya makeup 'nd hair." The one spoke, her nasally voice causing Molly to flinch, just in the slightest amount. The other woman, who was much more softer in appearance, and voice, spoke soon after.

"Um, why don't you go and take a shower, and we'll be set up and ready for you by the time you're out. He said you usually don't take long, so it's fine." She smiled shyly, and motioned for Molly to go take care of things. As she turned and headed to her bathroom, she knew just who 'he' was. However, she couldn't get over the intrigue of just _how_ he knew how long it took her to bathe.

True to her usual habit, though, five minutes had passed, and Molly was drying herself off with her favorite towel. She slipped on her favorite house coat, and entered the living room again. It had been swiftly transformed into a parlor of sorts, with a standing vanity and the large mirror attached to it. Molly's mouth hung open, and she looked to the two ladies, who were smiling at her.

"Alright then, let's get you ready." They said together, before beckoning she come and sit in the awaiting chair. She was told to relax, and the two set about working.

"Do either of you know what this is all about, exactly?" Molly asked, offering a hopeful smile. The two women looked to each other, before giggling and then shaking their heads.

"He said you would ask. Honestly, we do know, somewhat, but we're not allowed to tell you anything." The quieter one said, before she began to apply gentle sweeps of makeup to Molly's eyes.

"Must be a special one, though. Goin' to a lot of trouble for tonight, 'e is." The blunt one said, tugging on her damp hair. Molly sighed, and shrugged as she gave up the pursuit of finding out what Sherlock was planning.

Truth be told, she hadn't really expected him to take any heart to her list at all. According to her, in fact, it was Sherlock's way of distracting her from the harsh reality she found herself in. '_He's just trying to keep you from being upset, so you can come back to the hospital to help him. Don't think too much on it._' She'd told herself, convinced that in a day or less, Sherlock would be asking her to analyze another culture for him, or pull another body, or for another cup of coffee.

Almost twenty minutes had passed, and the two women stepped away from her, letting her look at the mirror. Molly was very surprised, seeing her hair so elegantly twisted and looped atop her head. The bun was much more intricate than she could ever hope to achieve by herself, and every curl was made with precision, held in place by the firm hairspray that had been misted over it. Her makeup was soft, making her natural features highlighted and a bit more pronounced. She looked at her lips, and noticed that the shade hadn't been a bright red like she would have chosen for a fancier event, but rather, a dull dusky rose color. She turned and smiled at the ladies.

"Wow, th...thank you so much! Really, this is lovely!" They nodded in reply. One had gone over to the sofa, and pulled up the large bag, dangling it from her fingers.

"You're going to need help with this." She said. Molly's eyes widened as the bag was unzipped, revealing the most beautiful gown she'd ever seen. Confusion shot to the forefront of her mind once more, and she numbly let the women dress her as she pondered what the consulting detective could have thought up.

OoOo

The next knock had come just five minutes after the two beautifying women had left. Molly answered the door, slightly nervous about someone seeing her in such a state. However, as she opened the door, the only thing awaiting her was a small girl, holding up a small box. She looked up at Molly, and gasped loudly.

"You _are_ a princess! He said I'd get to meet a princess, and he was right! Um...princess...these are for you." The girl handed Molly the box, who took it before looking at her in return. She was thin, barely anything beyond skin and bones, and her clothing was nearly threadbare. Molly was immediately struck with Sherlock's voice, mentioning something he had said in passing several times in the past.

_'Homeless network, they are my connections throughout all of London.'_

Molly looked down at the girl again, and wondered just what her life was like. She suddenly had an idea, and pointed at the small child.

"You wait right there, okay? I'll be right back." The girl nodded, and watched Molly walk away. Minutes later, she had returned with her arms behind her back. The girl tilted her head in confusion, until Molly brought them around to the front of her body. In one hand, was a large and quite thick jumper, the wool material promising its warmth on the harshest of nights. In the other was a shining, albeit plastic, tiara. Molly smiled brightly, as she handed over the sweater, and placed the fake crown on the little girl's head.

"There, now _you're_ a princess. Oh, sweetie, please take care, and don't forget to wear that jumper when you get cold, okay?" Molly smiled as the girl's eyes lit up. She adjusted the tiara on her head, and hugged the thick material close to her chest. A wave of her hand, and she was sprinting down the hall, leaving a teary-eyed Molly to worry over her fate.

She opened the delivered box, to find a beautiful strand of pearls, along with matching earrings inside. _He's going through an awful lot of trouble, does he really pity me that much?_ She thought as she looped the necklace around her neck, letting them finally come to rest on her skin.

The last knock on the door was a man, or rather, Mycroft Holmes. Molly was surprised to see him, and blushed a bit as she noticed his subtle glancing at her attire.

"Miss Hooper, you look quite radiant. I can see my brother still has his mental capabilities about him, then?" He said, offering a bit of a grin. Molly smiled back, realizing that this was Mycroft's attempt at a joke.

"You are to come with me, I will be escorting you to your destination. My brother will take things from there." Mycroft replied casually, extending his arm for her to take. Molly smiled a bit, nervously at best, before linking her arm with his.

The car ride had been fairly silent, except for the soft trills of Offenbach's _'Barcarolle'_ playing in the background. Molly had enjoyed the soft sounds of it, that she nearly drifted off to sleep, the rhythm of the car lulling her to nap. However, soon they had arrived, and Mycroft opened the door for her, helping her to exit the vehicle. She nodded her thanks to him, and he did likewise in response. His eyes then flitted up a bit, and he let go of her hand.

"Ah, there you are, Sherlock. I have delivered Miss Hooper to you, as promised." He said in a much more posh sounding tone. Molly turned to see him, and could barely contain the gasp that left her mouth. There, standing in front of her, was Sherlock Holmes. However, despite his consistent ability to clear the oxygen from her lungs with his crisp attire, she had never expected him to wear a tuxedo, much less look spectacularly dashing in one. She swallowed the lump in her throat that had risen up, and walked toward him.

Sherlock, to his credit, seemed just as floored as she was. When he'd put together the plans, he knew the dress would be completely fitting to her. However, as he gazed over her soft curves, he couldn't help but to openly glance at how the deep plum material hugged her in all the right places. The dress wrapped itself around her like paper to a present, tantalizing his senses with her beauty.

"What's this all about, Sherlock?" She asked, snapping him out of his temporary mental fog. Sherlock cleared his throat, before offering a quick smirk.

"In good time, Molly. Come on, we don't want to lose our seats." He said, taking her arm in his, and escorting her into the large hall. As they walked into the large cathedral-like auditorium, Molly couldn't miss the fact that nobody else was around. Literally thousands of seats, all emptied. She could see his coat tossed over one of the seats halfway up, directly in the middle of the rows of chairs. She walked beside him, before they reached the specified row. As she sat down, Molly couldn't help but start to piece things together. She turned to look at him.

"Sherlock...you don't have to actually do any of those things on that list...you do know that right? It's all just...silly talk. You don't have to go to so much trouble on my account." She said earnestly. The response she got stunned her almost as much as the whole event.

"Sh, Molly, it's about to start. You're ruining the mood for the other guests." He said in a quiet voice. Molly looked around again, just in case the statement were true. Seeing no one, she glanced over at him again, the house lights dimming, but not quite hiding the mischievous smirk on his face. Soon, she looked forward at the sound of the first note being played. She immediately knew the tune, and looked to him. Sherlock seemed too engulfed in the performance, and so Molly joined him.

As the entirety of the opera was played out, Molly of course found herself crying. _La Bohème_ had always been her favorite opera, and she had always wanted to see it performed live. _I wonder how he knew that._ She briefly thought, before again becoming engrossed in the notes of the aria.

OoOo

At the end of the show, Molly stood and clapped as loudly as she could. Of course, the sound of her small hands echoed in the mostly empty room, and of course reached the orchestra. They bowed to her and Sherlock, before turning and putting their instruments away. Molly turned to Sherlock, who was offering her a tissue. She laughed, and took it gratefully. As they walked out of the auditorium, Molly sighed, feeling as though she had accomplished a great feat in her life.

"That was lovely, thank you." She said quietly. Sherlock nodded silently, before hailing them a cab. He helped Molly to slide into the seat, before shutting the door, and joining her from the other side.

"I knew it was your favorite because you hum bars of it when you are concentrating. Sometimes you will hum other things, but more often than not, it is from this. It seemed the only logical choice." Sherlock said as he glanced over to her. Molly was shocked. _So he had known._

"How did you find a symphony that was playing _La Bohème?__" _Molly asked curiously. As Sherlock looked out the window, he gave her the answer.

"I didn't. Apparently, the symphony only plays for seven months out of the year. This is their off-season. A simple phone call placed, and that was changed for this evening. I hope you enjoyed it." He said casually, as he continued to stare out at the passing streets and buildings. Molly's eyes pricked with tears again, and she looked at the man next to her with wonder.

"You...you did that? F-for me?" She was truly gobsmacked, unable to understand the eccentric behavior of Sherlock toward her. He turned to her again, a look of slight confusion echoing in his eyes.

"It was on your list. I thought I told you, this is my way of returning your years of kindness...your friendship, to me." he stated simply.

"B-but Sherlock. I could live for a few months, years more, even. You can't be the one to help me check off my bucket list items. I don't have enough items anyway, it almost seems p-" Molly had looked away at the end of her reasoning back to him, wanting to hide the tears from his scrutinizing gaze.

"Don't say it's pointless, Molly. It's not. As you said, there are very few items on that list, which will make this a very easy challenge, if you are alright with me taking it on." She looked back up to him at the stern sound of his voice. His jaw was set in a firm post, however, his eyes were soft, a look she had only seen a few times before. She nodded to him.

"Okay, Sherlock." He nodded, satisfied with her answer. The car drove on, and the two were silent for several minutes.

"Besides, that just means there is more time to add to the list. You know, in case you'd decided you wanted to go skydiving or cruise ship sailing." Sherlock added after a few moments. He looked at Molly from the corner of his eye, to find that she was stifling an outburst of laughter with the back of her hand.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Well there you have it, my dears. Chapter 2, done. Thank you to Semul for the idea with the symphony. I wanted to use something a bit different for the actual scene, but I hope you caught the nod to your favorite in there. ;) Lol, a lot of people say skydiving, but I think it's more because if you say something simple, people think that you aren't willing to do something insanely spontaneous, so most people will say 'skydiving' for the fact that they feel they need at least one extreme goal in life to fit with everyone else. Just FYI, Molly and Sherlock are NOT going skydiving. Lol. Sorry. Anyway, tell me what you think, and keep those bucket list items coming! I really just love hearing about all of your wishes, it's really cool to me. Thank you, my lovelies!


	3. Chapter 3

Teehee, I love how you are all enjoying this story! Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews, and awesome bucket list items. I hope you all get to accomplish everything you want in life. Because YOU DESERVE IT! :D

Righto, **I do not own the rights/reservations to any/all characters owned by Sir ACD/the BBC, or Moffat/Gatiss. **

Wow, there were a lot of slashes in that disclaimer...k, ONTO THE NEXT CHAPTER!

Oh, I almost forgot! This chapter is dedicated to Nocturnias, aka Sherlolly, because I didn't get her something for her birthday the other day. My bad, I swear I didn't forget, so here you are, I hope you like it!

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That night had given her so much joy, that Molly almost forgot about why it had happened in the first place. Almost. As she got up for work a day later, deciding she couldn't hide forever, the small woman gazed over her form in the mirror. She wondered what symptoms would appear first, and how long she had. The images of her scans flashed to mind, reminding her of the knots of cancer underneath her chest, trickling down throughout her lungs. Too many to count, or remember. Molly sighed, and finished getting dressed. She thought about the symphony, and how perfect Sherlock had made sure everything was.

_Sherlock._

Why was he agreeing to help her with this? She sighed, further thinking about the small list of things that they had come up with. It made Molly sad, thinking of how few exciting things she had wanted to try. She then thought about all the things she hadwanted to experience in her life. Things she would no longer have the time for, things that any woman should want in life. She wouldn't be able to experience any of them, Sherlock's help or not. So, having now found herself at work, and nothing much to do, Molly Hooper began a different list.

**'Bucket-full-of-Holes List:'**

OoOo

Sherlock had been all too proud of himself for the success of the night with the orchestra. They had done very well, despite only having six hours together to rehearse. Everything had gone according to plan, and as far as repaying his debt to Molly, well, he still felt unfulfilled. The guilt had sneaked in and wormed its way deep within the confines of Sherlock's well guarded heart. The man was currently delved into his mind palace, to sort out some very important questions.

_'Why am I doing this?'_ He asked himself immediately. And just as quickly, his mind answered for him.

_'Easy, that one. Because Molly is dying, and you feel terrible for putting her through so much hell. Besides that factor, you feel indebted to her for saving your life, and are therefore attempting to save what little of hers she has left, helping her to actually live instead of wasting away.'_

_'I shouldn't be wasting my time with this. I should be helping her live by making her see the logic behind accepting treatment, surgery, something.'_ He said in return, his mind full of frustration. The mirror image of himself stood there across from him, chuckling as he watched the emotional tumult play itself out.

_'You would be wasting your time with that, and you know it. This is a much better solution. Convince her that there are things worth living for, worth experiencing, and perhaps she will then see reason. Until then, do NOT bring it up.'_ His advice sifted briskly and authoritatively through his ears, and Sherlock knew that it was coming to him from the part of his mind that now thought like his blogger.

_'Alright, one last question.'_ He stated. The oracle of his own likeness nodded his head and waited. Sherlock bit down on his lip, gnawing nervously, as he tried to form the question.

_'What was that 'feeling', last night? That annoying, surging sweeping feeling when I first saw her?'_ Sherlock asked quickly, before he turned away, mostly out of shame. The reflection gave a very familiar smug grin, before quirking a curious brow at itself.

_'Don't ask stupid questions, Sherlock. You already know the answer to that.'_

OoOo

He had glanced over the list, and decided in the end to go with the next thing written. A light smile had graced Sherlock's face as he thought over their argument on this topic.

"I don't really want to, though. I am not clumsy, per say, but that doesn't mean I can do that." Molly stated defensively. Sherlock rolled his eyes, before grabbing the list from her, quickly jotting it down with his own pen.

"Yes, but neither could any of the 'professionals', before they learned how. Really, Molly; you know you secretly want to. Why else would you always talk about that incessantly dull show, or tap your feet with the music in the lift? This is not optional, you will do it. Yes?" Sherlock tossed the notebook back down onto the table, the spine landing with a soft 'thump'. Molly rolled her eyes now, and huffed out a long sigh.

"I suppose I don't have a choice, now, do I?"

OoOo

Sherlock walked quickly down to the morgue, determination and strength behind his steps. Really, this wasn't unusual at all, aside from the fact that he was wholly expecting her resistance. He pushed the door open quickly, and paused as he waited for her to look up. Molly, who had been working on some paperwork, started, looking up quickly. Sherlock noticed how fast she was to shove the notebook back into her desk drawer, before she turned to him.

"Oh, hi Sherlock. So...what brings you in today? Do you need help with an experiment? Some unfortunate body to beat senseless? Oh...no...Sorry." She stumbled over the failed attempt at humor, sighing before shaking it off and bringing her attention back to the detective.

"No, but I do need for you to be done working. So many interesting things to do, such little time." Sherlock smirked a bit, before realizing his own choice at words. 'Not good, mate.' He could hear John say. As he opened his mouth to apologize, Molly cut him off by giggling sweetly.

"Alright, let me get my coat." She said, before scampering off to the other side of the room. Sherlock's eyes automatically drifted to the drawer that now contained a most intriguing notebook.

_'Not now. Save that for later.'_

OoOo

As they walked up to the building, Molly knew exactly where they were heading. She stalled for a moment, looking entirely uncertain. Sherlock stopped as well, a few steps ahead of her, and turned around.

"Molly, it's just basics. I promise not to throw you into anything too advanced so early on. You would become entirely clumsy at that rate, and I am not an idiot. Now, come on." He stated the facts imperiously, before grasping her hand and pulling her inside.

They soon were in a large room, the lovely hardwood floors almost capturing their reflection as they stepped across it. Sherlock immediately walked to the lone person in the room besides them, an older woman in a lovely flowing skirt that rippled near the floor. Molly watched the exchange curiously, wondering who this was, and better still, how she knew Sherlock.

"Ah, Sherlock Holmes. You are becoming quite the famous name in this city, aren't you, my lad?" She spoke, giving him a wag of her finger. Sherlock bowed in a rare show of politeness, and looked back up to her.

"Yes, I suppose the press love following someone cleverer than they are. But, that's not what we're here for. I trust you are prepared to take on a new beginner, even after all these years?" He asked. The old woman nodded her head, before peeking around him at Molly. She smiled a bit, before looking up at him.

"Oh, she is a pretty one, isn't she? Now, move over, laddie, and let me have a proper look-see. You there, lass, come here." The lilt of her origins ran thickly from her tongue as she pointed to the floor in front of her. Molly immediately tensed up, nervous as anything, and quickly walked to stand in front of her.

"Hello, dear. You must be Molly. First, my condolences on your recent news. I just lost my own partner two months ago. But, enough of that now. You are here to learn dance, are you not? My Sherlock here was one of my finest pupils as a boy, far before any of that silly detective rubbish he goes on about now. I am Mrs. Judy Cuthright, but you may call me Judy. Never Ma'am, and neverMrs. Cuthright. Understand?" The woman asked with a bright smile. Molly looked at her wiry appearance, the bright red hairs frazzling and fizzing from her head seeming to match the rest of the sharp and bony angles of her body. Molly nodded her head, and then looked to Sherlock, who had taken the proper poise of a child in trouble with his teacher. His regal self was in place, however it was not without the stress behind his shoulders, where he usually seemed much more at ease. Molly almost giggled, seeing how tense he became in the presence of this tiny slip of a woman.

"Right, so, we'll begin with the waltz. That's easy, and Sherlock used to be so wonderful at it. Do you still know how to waltz, Sherlock?" Judy looked over to him, catching his nod before he looked to Molly.

"Well, don't be shy, lad. Take point." She thrust her thumb toward the empty place in the center of the room. Sherlock, much like a soldier marching off, did as he was told. Molly watched in shock as he moved past her, giving her a slight wink as he did so.

"So, Molly. The Waltz is a very basic and easy dance to accomplish. It is a dance that is all about you. Showing you off like a work of art, but also about protecting you, keeping you precious. Now, follow me." Judy moved around her, signaling for Molly to follow suit, as they moved to the center of the room where Sherlock stood. Judy pulled Molly over by her hand, and placed it delicately into the air, as if it were perched on an invisible ledge. She gulped down a nervous breath, watching intently as Sherlock took her hand in his own. She then felt her opposite arm slowly raising into the air, matching the height of the first. This one, poised in a bend, awaited its lead to take over. Judy nodded to Sherlock, and he nodded back to her, before sliding his arm into place.

Molly had to force down a gasp, as she felt his hand sliding over her back. Her right hand rested in his left, and her left was cradled up and around his shoulder. She could feel the strength in his arms, holding her up in a firm, yet careful post. Judy had stepped away at this point, and was now speaking again.

"Alright, on my count, you step back with your right foot. Sherlock is a good leader, he will show you what steps you need to take." She then stomped out a slow beat with the heel of her shoe, and began to count.

"One, two, three. One, two, three. Ready, and begin." Molly tried her hardest to remember the first step. Right foot , this only landed her face directly into Sherlock's chest, her hands clasping onto him desperately so she wouldn't fall.

"Oh, oh I'm so sorry. See, Sherlock? I told you, I'm..." Molly started rambling her apologies, before Sherlock cut her off, his arms bringing her up to position once more, and moving them both as seamlessly as if she weren't even touching the ground. Molly gasped a bit, looking down to realize her feet were moving right along with his.

"Ah, chin up, Molly. It's considered poor show for the lady to hide her face." Sherlock stated quietly. His feet slowed, before coming to a stop, and spinning Molly out to his arm's length. She looked at him, before a wide grin broke loose on her face. In a flash, she was back in his arms, her hands grabbing his tightly and pulling herself a bit closer.

"I want to try again. Please? I...I want to know what just happened. Just...go slowly, okay?" She asked with a bright gaze. Judy stood across the room now, laughing at the enthusiasm of the young lady. She started a CD, which held a lovely tune, the sweet violin sound playing high in the air around them. She watched on, as her former pupil became both teacher and partner within the steps, leading Molly around the room slowly. He explained each of the steps and moves carefully, literally walking her through them one by one. Molly had proved to be quite the quick learner, once she was ready to take on the challenge. Within the hour, Sherlock was slowly twirling her around the room, the two of them easily moving together.

After two hours, Molly's feet began to ache, and so they had stopped. She seemed slightly out of breath, slightly tired, but mostly, she seemed happy.

"Thank you so much for making me do this, Sherlock. I'm...well, I'm surprised. Oh, and thank you, Judy. You must be a very good teacher to have taught Sherlock all those steps when he was a boy." Molly turned and smiled at the frail woman. She nodded her head, gazing proudly at her students.

"You're the one who made it easy, Molly, m'dear. Normally, partners must spend months and months of close practice to move together so gracefully, even at a beginner's level. There's a lot of trust involved, a lot of caring. I can see that you are very special, Molly. Very special, indeed." Judy spoke with a sweet smile of endearment, her eyes wrinkling at the corners as she looked to the tall man. His jaw had gone rigid, and his eyes were narrowed slightly, as if trying to get a message across. Molly blushed, and carefully pried herself from Sherlock's continued hold. She walked across the room and gave Judy a quick hug, before walking back to the detective's side.

Sherlock bowed to his former instructor, and then turned, escorting them both out the room and building.

OoOo

The cab ride home had been another silent one, with Molly replaying the steps over in her head, and Sherlock thinking of the way she had felt in his arms. He felt strong enough to hold her there for an eternity, keeping her safe from the weathering storms of life, such as her illness. It was only when they had slowed at a light, that Sherlock noticed Molly's head dropped onto his shoulder. She had fallen asleep, the energy draining activities wiping her out. Instinct took over, and the brilliant mind found his arm moving up to rest on the back of the seat, giving her more room to curl up into his side, her warmth making his heart melt a bit.

Moments later, the cab slowed to a stop in front of Molly's building. Sherlock nudged her awake, and she sleepily looked around her settings, getting a grasp on where they were.

"Oh, oh I'm home. Thank you, Sherlock. That was actually a lot of fun. Thanks for convincing me to go. I'll...I'll see you later?" She asked with a yawn, and then a silly, if not hopeful grin. Sherlock nodded his head, subtly moving his arm to leave her. Molly climbed out of the car, and waved a farewell to him. As the cab drove away, Sherlock let out a heavy sigh.

"Trouble with the little woman, eh chap?" The cabbie asked. As Sherlock looked up, his eyes met with the driver's in the mirror. He rolled his eyes, before turning to look out the window.

"No. 221 Baker Street. Please." he quipped back. The driver shut his mouth after that, giving the detective a chance to think things through. Or rather, to attempt thinking things through.

This attempt was hindered, of course, by the memory of how lovely she had looked in his arms as they danced. Her bright smile was enough to make him almost forget the simple steps to the waltz, and her eyes, when opened, gave him such a burdened feeling. He wanted to make them light up like that for the rest of her life. I

' have to save her. I will save her.'A very determined mindset struck itself into place among his ironclad appearance, as he pulled out the list again.

"Alright, which to take care of next?"

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Well, I hope you all enjoyed that. That was a very Very difficult scene to write, mainly because I've never danced before, so I don't know the steps involved, and the emotion behind I can only explain based on the research I've done, and a few very important tips given to me by Sundance201. Thank you, by the way sweetie. :D

Anyway, I hope you all liked that chapter. Tell me what you think in a review, if you please. I like-a-the-reviews!


	4. Chapter 4

_WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I am so glad you all liked that last chapter! :) I wasn't too sure about how it would be received, based on the technicalities of the dance itself, and the fact that I have no knowledge on such topics. Lol...but anyway, I received a lovely response from someone who does know the proper positions and movements, so I figure that's a good thing, right? _

_Alright folks, I would just like to readdress the fact that __**I don't own diddly. None of it is mine, I'm simply borrowing. **_

_K, now, who wants another chapter? This one will be a bit faster in pace, but just because I'm only giving highlights of some of the other list items...it's okay...still a lot of plot coming up. You've been warned. MWAHAHAHAHA!_

_Enjoy!_

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In the week that followed, Sherlock and Molly had accomplished nearly all the tasks on the list. Sherlock, in true controlling form, had taken upon himself the task of planning everything, and Molly was always pleased with the results. The adventures, while not thrilling to some, were so exciting to the small pathologist, as she had never done them before, despite her location of living in London for years now. They had gone to the London Eye, as well as several museums and historic monuments throughout the city.

At Madame Tussaud's, Molly had a rather good laugh at the sight of her favorite consulting detective, standing amongst the famous figures. Sherlock had spent the rest of the time complaining about how they had not fit his measurements properly, causing him to look 'bloated and unfit for chasing criminals'.

She had to twist his arm a bit, but Molly was finally able to convince Sherlock to go along with her to the Royal Observatory, despite his whining of how little it mattered. However, the slight tinge of hurt in her eyes made him swiftly change his answer.

OoOo

"You've really never been here before?" Sherlock asked her as they walked into the building. Molly shook her head and smiled up at him.

"I'm surprised you _have_ been here, what with your knowledge of...the...um..." Molly had started making her snarky retort, but stopped upon seeing Sherlock's eyes widen with a flash of offended shock.

"It was for a case." He muttered bitterly after awhile, before following her into one of the rows of seats. Molly sat back in the chair, and looked up with excitement at the large dome that towered over them. The show began, and the scientific information on the furthest known nebulae washed over them through the speakers. The screen above projected the brightly lit corners of galaxies, and Molly soaked in every ounce that she could. Sherlock, however, was perfectly content to do anything else beside listen to what he considered 'trivia', and had decided to sort through his mind palace. However, a small hand on his forearm brings him immediately out, and he snaps his gaze to see Molly, still looking up at the dome, her small hand clutched onto him as she tried to get his attention.

"Oh, Sherlock! Look at that! It's brilliant!" She whispers with glee, pointing up at the way the clouds in the displaying nebula swirl and move through the blackness of space. The man only glances up briefly, slightly impressed with the sight. But his gaze drifts back to her, and he watches her with fully piqued interest. If he were to be asked to choose between studying the stars and floating gas giants of space, and studying the way learning lit up Molly Hooper's eyes as she discovered something new, he would have to choose her every time. Sherlock felt his stomach swoop down, dropping to his feet metaphorically, and he was once again reminded of the feeling he had upon seeing her the night they went to the symphony.

The signs were there, he recognized them, and had mulled over them as the show finished.

_'So, it's come to this, has it? You find her completely invigorating, enthralling, interesting, and absolutely beautiful, and she's dying. Wonderfully timed, you stupid man. I need to convince her to stay. She has to stay. Oh Molly, please don't leave me now.' _He was brought out of his thoughts by the lights coming back on, causing the audience to squint at the sudden brightness. Molly was standing already, her face washed with a bit of concern as she looked down at him.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" Her soft eyes looked over his furrowed features, which snapped quickly to their usual alert state. He gave her a quick smile and nod, before standing up and leading them out of the observatory.

"That was really amazing. Such a beautiful universe, I...I didn't know that." She smiled a bit, but Sherlock could see the hint of sadness in her eyes. _She still giving up. Damn it._

They walked silently, and Sherlock's mind reeled back to the mystery notebook in her desk at Bart's.

OoOo

Upon taking her home. Sherlock pulled out the list and ceremoniously crossed off the Observatory. He looked it over, to find one item left. Molly looked over his shoulder at the piece of paper, and quickly grabbed the list from his hands.

"Wha..."

"No, let me do this one. Please? You've been great with everything, really. But this one I...I want to plan this one out, okay?" Molly asked nervously. She didn't want to seem ungrateful, for she was far from it. However, the camping trip had been inspired by her father, and she wanted it to be just as special as he was. Sherlock nodded, seemingly understanding her wish behind wanting to take charge.

"Very well. Let me know how I can assist, and I will get whatever supplies you need." He said, turning to leave.

"We." Sherlock turned back around, to see her nervous side even more dominantly present on her face.

"Sorry?"

"You mean _we_, right? Y-you _are_ coming with me...aren't you?" Molly bit her lip after her statement, as if letting herself down easily before he outwardly rejected her invitation. Sherlock had paused, looking about the room, in search of _something._

"If you want me to, Molly, I would be...honored, to join you." He stated with a brief stall, not sure if the word fit his actual feelings on the subject. '_Thrilled, delighted, completely at your mercy, you blind, wonderful woman.'_

She smiled brighter than before, and nodded, before moving to close the door of her flat behind him.

"Right, well...I'll see you." She said, waving goodbye to him as he walked down the hall.

OoOo

The cab took Sherlock to his destination, decidedly _not_ 221B Baker Street. He found himself currently walking into the building of St. Bart's Hospital, toward the surely unmanned morgue. As he entered the dark room, his legs moved him swiftly to Molly's work station. True to form, he found the small notebook crammed into the drawer, haphazardly shoving papers into the back of it. Sherlock lifted it out, hesitating only for a second. '_You shouldn't do this.' _He could hear John say. However, the detective brushed off the conscience, and flipped open the cover. The first few pages had been doodles, simply done out of boredom. A few notes and phone digits strewn throughout the pages, no doubt due to needing a piece of paper in a hurry. Finally, he came to the page he knew was what he had been looking for. There, in thickly traced letters, was her list. _Her real list._

**Bucket-full-of-Holes List:**

Sherlock proceeded down the list of things that, while they seemed completely out of place on a bucket list, spoke volumes when he considered the source.

_1. Have my first dance._

This, of course, now had a long line crossing over it, and Sherlock knew that he had been able to provide her with something she truly wanted. He smiled a bit, glad that he could do that.

_2. Be held by someone who loves me._

He paused at this one, not quite understanding what she meant by it. The words, while obvious, confused his mind. He decided to read on.

_3. Feel truly beautiful for once._

A pang shot through his heart at the item on the list. How could she not think she was beautiful? Even he could see the blatantly obvious facts. Her features fit her entirely, and the way she had looked in that dress, well, Sherlock stopped his mind from traveling down a far more nefarious thought path. Instead, he found himself thinking of moments they had shared between them, just a few years earlier.

"_I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too...small now."_

"_You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."_

"_I'd say you better break it off now and save yourself the pain."_

"_Don't make jokes, Molly."_

"_Miss Hooper has love on her mind."_

"_Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts..."_

"_Molly, don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area."_

Each one was like a dagger of guilt that repeatedly stabbed him, twisting the blade further into his heart. Suddenly, he realized that _he _was the reason for this list as well. Only, he wasn't meant to see this. Molly, of course, would have been too mortified and felt too guilty if she knew he had come across it. Sherlock read down the list further, to the obvious items, such as getting married, having a family, and taking up a long term hobby, such as painting. He glanced over one item in particular, feeling himself go a bit pink in the face at the intimate thought that his pathologist has scribbled down on paper.

_'Obvious that this list wasn't meant to be seen by anyone_.' He thought to himself, turning his head away a bit, as if giving Molly back a bit of her privacy. He then sighed, and ripped the sheet of paper out of the notebook, before tucking it into his coat pocket. Sherlock then quickly left the morgue, and strode toward the lift. He needed the lab. He needed to think.

OoOo

The sound of a jolly voice was heard down the hall as he approached the lab door, and Sherlock knew just who it was. _Maybe he'll have some advice for me._ He thought, approaching the office. As he came to the door, he could hear Mike's voice more clearly, listening in as he spoke to someone over the phone.

"I know, really dodged a bullet on that one. Stupid intern, mixing up 'Cooper' with 'Hooper'. Unfortunately, we now have to track down that patient and tell them the bad news, but it's a bit of a happy day for us here, yea? Anyway, she'll be so pleased, won't she? It's really no problem at all...No, thank you for being so understanding about it all. Alright, thanks. You too...Bye." He hung up the phone. Sherlock's throat closed off as he immediately understood the half conversation he had eavesdropped on. _She isn't dying. She's going to be okay. She's okay. _

"Sherlock? What can I do for you, mate?" Mike's voice snapped him back to attention, and he quickly plowed through the slightly ajar door, one goal in mind.

"Let me tell her, Mike. Please, I...will you let me tell her the news? There's something I need to do first, but I will tell Molly." Sherlock asked insistently. Mike's mouth opened and closed in slight shock, mirroring a goldfish out of water.

"B...but Sherlock..."

"No, Mike. Say nothing to her. She's planning a trip, and I want her to enjoy it. She _can't_ cancel it, which is what she'll do if she thinks she no longer has a reason to go." Sherlock stated quickly. Mike let out a long sigh of resignation, and Sherlock took it as his agreement of silence. He nodded and quickly left the office, foregoing the lab, and leaving the hospital to arrange some plans of his own for their next adventure.

_She's okay. She'll be okay, even after I tell her. It will all work out._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Ooooh, PLOT TWIST! So, Molly ISN'T dying...hm...that's interesting. And yet, Sherlock is going to keep this fact from her...what are his motives? What are his plans? How will Molly's list come into play? STAY TUNED, COME BACK FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER!

Also, let me know what you thought of this one. Pretty pretty please?


	5. Chapter 5

lol, I'm glad you are all happy that Molly isn't dying of cancer anymore. Even more excellent that the plot twist surprised you. :D Anyway, the story isn't over yet, my lovelies! MWAHAHAHAHA! Oh, um...ahem...I mean...enjoy this next chapter!

**I don't own it. It's not my own...my precious...sigh. Sad panda.**

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The weekend had come sooner than either of them realized, each one involved in their own plans. Molly had been ecstatic when she found the lovely spot where they would go. It was a small lake, hidden deep in the countryside, far from the world or bustling chaos of London. The perfect place to get away from it all.

Sherlock, however, was working frantically to plan out his portion of this trip. While this didn't involve purchasing supplies, food, or even a tent, it _did_ mean sucking up his pride, and going to the one person he knew could be of some help in this area he knew so little about.

John.

OoOo

"Wait, so...that's why you haven't been taking cases higher than a nine? You...you were taking care of Molly?" He asked, his expression incredulous as he looked to the now weary detective. Sherlock nodded his head, before looking back at John.

"Yes, and that's also why I need your help now, John. Oh, don't look like that. I'm not repeating myself. She's...she's given up, I'm afraid. Given up on trying to get herself well, in order to stick around for the long life she is now sure to have. And by extension, she's given up on me. I...John, I can't handle that." Sherlock ranted bitterly as he paced back and forth in front of the living room window. John followed his rapid movement, he was slowly absorbing the information when Sherlock had stopped and looked to him. It was the third time in their friendship together that he had seen him look so vulnerable.

"But you said she's okay. It was a mix up with the charts, and she doesn't...oh. Bloody hell, Sherlock. You haven't told her, have you?" John realized halfway through his statement that Sherlock was being himself...well, not _entirely_.

"Sherlock, what are you hoping to achieve by helping her complete this list you've thought up together? And why doesn't she know about the mix up at the hospital? What's this about, Sherlock? Really?" John stood at this point, walking over to his friend, who was currently staring intently out the window, hands bracing his rigid frame against the wooden frame that contained the panes of glass. Sherlock sighed, his eyes slipping closed as he worked up the nerve to say what he was actually thinking.

"I want to show her what sort of life she could live if she wasn't so reserved all the time. She's less inclined to act out her own wishes if she thinks she has more time. That's why I haven't told her yet, I want her to experience _life_. The kind of life she should be living." He said emphatically, his crystal eyes still looking out the window. His expression was one of pure confusion, and John knew that a straight answer to his next question was unlikely.

"Sherlock, do you...do you love Molly?"

_Silence._ John sighed, and turned away, knowing he had expected too much change out of the man.

"How do I do that?" The question was quiet, barely audible with the detective's painfully low baritone. John whipped his head around to look at his friend, who was now standing upright, looking at him with almost pleading eyes.

"Do what?"

"How do I...love her, John? So she _knows_. You know how I work, John. This isn't my area." Sherlock stated the blunt truth. He didn't know the first thing about his emotions, or love, or women. Most of all, he didn't know how to combine all of that information into expressing his newly realized feelings toward Molly. John chuckled a bit, which earned a scowl.

"Sorry, mate. I just never thought I'd see the day where Sherlock Holmes comes to _me_ for advice on women. Look, Sherlock. The important thing is to make sure she knows that you are being sincere. You can't deny the fact that you've treated her pretty rotten in the past. She's going to question your motives, and _you've_ got to be prepared for that. I know this weekend is supposed to be some sort of loving act on your part, but you've got to tell her the truth about the scans. Then wait and see how she reacts. If she's not ready to handle that news well, there's no bloody way she'll be willing to hear anything you have to say regarding your feelings for her. Make sense?" He finished with his mild speech, to find a bewildered Sherlock hunched over on the sofa's end. John walked over to him, and placed a strong hand on his shoulder. As a wide eyed genius looked up to his usually shorter friend, the doctor gave him a bright smile.

"I wouldn't worry too much though, mate. In all the time you've known her, when has Molly ever been one to give up on _you_? She didn't at your worst of times, I doubt she will now." He finally said before walking into the kitchen. Sherlock sat there for several minutes, revising his original plan for their time together on this journey.

OoOo

Molly had loaded up everything into the rented car. The slightly old tent, last used by her father just before he had come down ill, along with two identical sleeping bags. She bit her lip as she wondered about the length of them, as compared with how tall she knew Sherlock was.

'_Better throw in an extra blanket, just to be safe.'_ She thought to herself, before tossing a quilt onto the pile of things in the boot of the car. Going over the checklist in her mind, Molly counted off all the things she had, and came up with the realization that she had everything for this trip, apart from one very important thing.

"He's probably changed his mind." She mumbled to herself, smiling sadly at the thought of doing this alone.

"Changed my mind about what?" Sherlock spoke from behind her, causing the small pathologist to jump out of her skin. She whipped around, looking up at him.

"Oh, you scared me to death. H...hello." Molly offered up a smile, soft and sweet in its delivery. Sherlock felt his heart enter a free fall to his stomach, and he sucked in a breath.

"Hello, Molly. Do we have all the supplies required for this trip? I did bring a few things, just as a precaution." He stated, carefully setting the box of things in the back, along with everything else. He looked to Molly, who was biting her lip nervously.

"Look, Sherlock...if you don't want to...you don't _have_ to do..." She had started to say, but was immediately cut off by Sherlock grabbing the keys from her hand, and quickly marching over to climb into the driver's seat. Molly stuttered and watched him in shock.

"B...but, Sherlock. You don't even know where we're going!" She said, still crawling into the passenger seat, despite her protests and apparent want to drive. Sherlock tossed the map to her, and started the car.

"No, but you do. I trust your navigational skills are sufficient enough. So, direct me where to go, and I will assure that we make it there in decent time and condition." The detective said as he waited for her instruction. Molly eyed him unconvincingly, before she cracked open the crisply folded map.

"Okay, first..."

OoOo

The trip had taken them six hours, two stops, and five arguments to complete, but finally, Sherlock pulled the car up to the lake's rocky beach. The sun had set, which would make pitching the tent slightly difficult. Silence had overtaken the car for the past thirty miles, and now that they were finally there, he felt the proper git for yelling at her.

"Molly?"

"Hm." She answered in a curt hum. Sherlock sighed, before turning to her.

"Molly, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. You are not to blame for the road work, and you're not horridly obnoxious. I...I spoke out of turn. I apologize." He waited for her to turn from her position, currently gazing out the window. Finally, she did so, and her face held a much softer expression than it had for the past half hour.

"It's alright. We're here now, so...fresh start, yea?" Molly nodded with a smile, before climbing out of the car. Sherlock sighed a bit in relief, before following suit. She opened the boot up, and placed her hands on her hips, determining where to begin.

"It's a bit dark, would you mind holding a torch up while I set up the tent?" She asked, handing the light to him. Sherlock took it, and watched as she pulled the small tarp bag from the car. A few things fell over as she did so, the structure of it no longer holding up the weight of the other boxes and bags. Sherlock moved to offer his assistance, which Molly shook off with a smile.

"No, it's fine. I know how to pitch a tent." She laughed, removing the thing from its case. As she rolled the tarp out onto the ground, she pushed the stakes into the softened ground, each one easily sliding into the earth underneath the weight of her hands. All the while, Sherlock simply watched on, shining the light just in front of where she was working. When it came time to push the supporting rods through, she grew frustrated, the awkward weight of the unbalanced tent making tricky work of her efforts. Sherlock couldn't suppress the chuckle he was trying to withhold.

"Oi, don't laugh. Just...sh...shine the light over here more, please." Molly gave him a look, before she went back to struggling with the last rod. As it raised into the air, the tension made it more difficult for her to move the beam into position, and she softly grunted as she finally got it into place. Standing up and brushing the dirt from her hands, Molly stood back to admire her work. It was smaller than she remembered, but she supposed it was still a fairly decent sized tent. She looked over to Sherlock, who was staring at the contraption like he had discovered some unknown thing.

"Have you never been camping before, Sherlock?" She had to ask. The detective's head shook slightly, and Molly giggled.

"Come on, it's not going to be that bad. Here, help me with the sleeping bags and then we can decide what to do next, alright?"

"Alright." came his muttered response.

OoOo

After situating their bags, each designating a side of the tent as their own, Sherlock was the one to decide sleep seemed like a proper idea. He stripped off his suit jacket and placed it at the head end of the sleeping bag. Molly blushed, and was sure he could see it, even in the dark. Both took to turning around to change into more comfortable sleep attire, Sherlock choosing to strip down to his boxers and socks. Molly was currently attempting to keep her modesty in tact, while at the same time shimmying out of her trousers and blouse, and into a pair of shorts and a regular tee. She was mostly successful, until she turned around to pick up her clothes that had fallen behind her. Tripping over the sleeve of her blouse, Molly was sent falling through the small confines of the tent, and face first into the chest of Sherlock. She immediately went to move away, which only caused more harm than good. As her hands still gripped his forearms, Molly sent both of them descending to the ground in a large heap. His weight fell onto her, and they both groaned.

"I...oh Sherlock...I'm so sorry. S...sorry." She stuttered as she moved to help him off of her. Her hand trailed across his chest, feeling the light hairs that trailed across it. Sherlock had sucked in a breath at this, and so she apologized once more. Finally, they were sorted, and she cautiously crawled back to her side of the tent.

"Sorry again." She murmured.

"It's alright, Molly. No harm done. Goodnight." Sherlock said through the darkness.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." She answered, before curling in to her sleeping bag. The sound of the lake lapped onto the rocks not too far away from them, and the silence of the air soon had them both drifting off to sleep. Had any of them been truly paying attention to their surroundings, their early morning wake up may have been prevented.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Oooh, what's gonna happen next? Hope you all liked this chapter. YAY for progress! Lol. Anyway, leave me a note, tell me what you thought, yea? k. Love you all! Thanks again for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

WOOHOO! So, this is the next chapter...yay! I just would like to thank you all so much for your enthusiastic and encouraging reviews. So many things that made me smile and laugh, so thank you so very much. :D

Right, well, let's get started, shall we?

**I do NOT own anything: Not Sherlock Holmes, or Molly Hooper, BBC, etc.**

Right, Enjoy the chapter!

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Albert Hooper always said that his little Molly-bee could sleep through anything. He was speaking the truth, as was evident now.

OoOo

It had been sometime during the late, late hours of the night when the storm rolled in. Sure, it started off as just a drizzle, and the canopy above the open meshing of the tent kept the two campers dry. However, given the fact that the rain was now raging in a harsh downpour, and given the fact that the tide was rising because of it, this soon was not the case.

Molly had started to feel a bit chilly as she tried curling further into her sleeping bag. Her body unconsciously tried to keep itself warm. When this didn't work, it alerted her, as she broke into a hard shiver. Molly sat upright upon the sound of her own teeth chattering, to discover that the reason she was so cold was _not_ due to the night air, but rather the fact that she was currently sitting in three inches of frigid lake water. She yelped and stood up, her whole body shaking as she did so. Her sleeping bag was sopping wet, and it sloshes into the puddle that had surrounded her as she dropped it. The sound woke the detective, who had been peacefully dreaming just a few feet away.

"Mm...Molly? Go back to bed." He said in a husky groan, obviously upset that he had been woken. She shivered again, feeling the wind from outside rush over her already icy skin.

"I...I...ca-can-can't." She said, trying hard to gain control over her motor skills. Sherlock let out a low huff of frustration, before sitting up to see why. His eyes widened as he took in her soaked state, and quickly put the puzzle pieces together of what had happened.

"Oh...come on. We'll have to clear out the car and sleep there for the rest of the night, until the rain dies down. Here, take my jacket." He said, pushing himself to a standing position, and offering her his rolled up suit coat. Molly took it, and quickly wrapped it around herself, still shaking violently. Meanwhile, Sherlock made his way out into the rain, and raced the short distance to the car. He reached into the back seat, pulling the few bags and boxes up and tossing them into the front, before he laid down the long back seat. With this out of the way, he looked inside, considering the options that they would have for positioning themselves. It was a tight fit, far too close for his comfort at the moment, and far too close for Molly's embarrassment to allow her. However, it was their only option. With that, he raced back to the tent, and ducked inside, grabbing his sleeping bag, and her hand.

"Come on, let's go." He stated, before yanking both with him out and under the elements. Molly practically whimpered in pain as the cold rain hit her already cool skin, and she hopped up and down as Sherlock spread the sleeping bag across the seat and back of the car. He motioned for her to crawl in first, and waited for her to find a marginally comfortable spot. He climbed in after she was situated, and closed the door of the car. It was quiet, aside from the muffled rain beating on the roof. Quiet, with exception to Molly's short bursts of breath as her body wracked with cold. Sherlock grabbed the spare blanket from the front of the car, and flung it over the both of them. Without saying anything, he pulled her into his arms and immediately began running his hands up and down her back.

"Sh...Sher...you don't..." Molly tried to speak out, as she tiredly pushed against him. He held her closer instead, and hushed her quietly.

"You're soaked to the bone, Molly. If we don't get you warmed up, you'll get sick. Can't have that, now. Not when..." His words cut short.

_'No, not yet. This isn't the time to tell her. Wait.'_

Molly looked up at him, a slight hint of confusion on her face. However, as his strong hands rubbed some warmth back into her body, the small woman seemed to calm down, her shivering spurts growing smaller and smaller. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to her, but no time at all for him, Molly had fallen asleep. Her damp hair clung to his arm and chest as he cradled her by his own body heat. He took a moment to look at her, to really look at her.

"Lovely." He muttered to himself, before lying his head down next to hers. The rain dropped onto the car outside, and the soft metallic clinking soon had the detective and pathologist both in a state of rest.

OoOo

By the time morning came, the rain had finally stopped. Sure, the skies were still grey and swirling with dark clouds, but the storms had stopped. Molly was the first one to wake up, her shirt and shorts finally dry enough not to cause her to feel cold. That, and the fact that she was wrapped up not _only _with the large quilt, but also in Sherlock's arms. She looked up from her snuggled post near his chest, to look at his sleeping features. He looked...ethereal.

Even more so than when he was awake, if she were honest. His features when he was alert were sharp, razor-like, just like his mind. He looked like some other-worldly being, always so clever with every gaze. However, as he slept, Molly could see just _how_ angelic he truly looked. How peaceful he looked when his mind slowed enough to give him a chance to rest, and therefore, his features grew soft too. She smiled as she looked over his softened face, feeling completely comfortable doing so. Soon, he began to stir, and his arms wrapped around her a bit tighter. Molly blushed as her face was pulled closer to his chest. Sherlock let out a tired moan, obviously still dead to the world and his actions.

"Mmmolly." He mumbled tiredly, his nose nuzzling into the curls of her hair. She chuckled a bit, feeling slightly scandalized at seeing such a vulnerable side to the detective.

"Sherlock, it's morning." She said. At the sound of her voice, he lurched up to full alertness, and swiftly hit his head on the ceiling of the car. Molly gasped as he fell backward again, moaning in pain.

"Oh, no! Are you okay? Here, let me see." She quickly swept her legs under her, so that she was now leaning over him to inspect his already reddening forehead. Sherlock blinked lazily, his head throbbing with the impact. As he looked up, his eyes first picked up the light around her hair, before he took to noticing the reflection of the skies outside in her eyes.

"I'm fine, Molly. Really. Just a bump, nothing more." He stated, gently trying to brush her hands away from his face, the sensation overwhelming him.

"Are you sure? That looks really sore. I can..." She had moved her hands up to his hair now, pushing it out of the way to look more closely at the small goose egg that had started appearing on his head. Her fingernails had lightly scraped along his scalp, sending the detective's senses into hyper drive, thus resulting in his reaction.

"Oh for God's Sake, Molly. It's a bump. It's fine. It's not as if I'm dying!" He practically shouted, and instantly regretted opening his mouth at all. Molly's eyes widened and she gasped with shock at the volume of his voice. He sat up again, this time avoiding the crash collision with the ceiling.

"Molly, I didn't..." He began, but was cut off by his own mind. _You idiot, tell her now. Tell. Her. NOW._

"It's okay, Sherlock. I'm...I'm..." Molly stuttered out, obviously trying to state she was okay, when she wasn't. Soon she moved, crawling over him and opening the car door. "I'm just going to go see how wet all the stuff in the tent got." She walked away, leaving Sherlock to watch her poised movements through the rear window. He let out a long sigh, before reaching for his jacket. He pulled out the crumbled piece of paper, and looked it over. At sight of one of the items, he frantically grabbed for a pen in the front console of the car, and scratched a long line through the words. He then shoved it back into his pocket, before getting out to go help Molly with the tent.

OoOo

They had managed to salvage a set of clothing each, albeit not the ideal selection. Molly had managed to save her favorite mesh jumper, faded technicolor and all, along with a pair of jean shorts and a pair of old converse shoes. Sherlock had been able to wring out the dark grey undershirt he had packed away, along with the only jeans to his name, and the spare pair of shoes he had kept in the car. His dress shoes had been ruined in the rain and lake water, and he would have to get new ones upon returning home. They dressed for the day; Molly in the car, Sherlock in the tent. Then, the decision for breakfast had come to an abrupt halt, when they both realized that while half of their food supplies was in the car, the better half was floating in the small pool of collected water, just a meter away from the tent.

Of course, this had caused another argument, resulting in Sherlock picking up the bag of now mushy bread, and chucking it into the lake. Water had weighed the bag down, causing it to splash crumbling bits of waterlogged wheat all over Sherlock's face and hair. Molly burst into laughter, before deciding to forgive him and help him to dry off.

"Well, we have no tent. We have no food. We have no more dry clothing. And the rain appears to be accumulating more in those clouds to the east. I'd say this is a pretty awful attempt at a camping trip, wouldn't you?" He finally said, looking as Molly sighed sadly. She nodded her head in agreement, before raising her head to meet his gaze.

"Wanna just head back now?"

"I don't see any reason why we couldn't at least enjoy a stroll around the area. The day's not a _complete_ loss yet." He answered with a classic smirk. Molly chuckled and smiled back at him.

OoOo

"What do people see in camping? Is it some sort of sadistic need for self inflicted sleep deprivation and emotional or physical turmoil?" Sherlock asked Molly as they walked along the beach side. She let out a small giggle, before shrugging her shoulders.

"I don't know why other people do it. My dad always said that it was his way of reminding himself of what was truly important. He said it was always so easy to get caught up in life in the big city, and that he needed to get away from all that so he could remember what it's like to have only the essentials. You have your food, your shelter, and your family. Dad's recipe for true happiness." She said with a reminiscent smile. Sherlock watched her as she spoke, noting the small amount of sadness that glanced just behind her eyes.

"You miss him terribly, don't you?" He asked after a moment. Molly looked up, nodding her head a bit. A small tear fell down her face, and Sherlock turned, pulling her to a stop by her hand. He reached up to her cheek, and wiped the small water droplet away with his thumb. She smiled, before pulling away.

"Sherlock, listen. I just want to say thank you. For all of this. You've been...well, you've been wonderful to me the past few weeks. You've opened my eyes to see how much wonderful stuff I'd be missing out on if I didn't give myself a chance." Molly said, her hand lightly touching him on the forearm. Sherlock stopped in his casual gait, and turned to give her his full attention. He appeared stoic as ever on the exterior, however, his thoughts were colliding into each other in attempts to get their way to the forefront of his mind.

"So...does that mean that you'd consider treatment, if it were necessary? You'd be willing to...give it a try?" He asked, carefully phrasing his words. Molly sighed out, before nodding her head.

"Of course I'd be willing to. I can't very well give up the chance at more of these interesting adventures. But Sherlock..."

"Molly, I need to..."

They cut each other off, both trying desperately to say something important. Molly bit her lip, and nudged his arm with her hand, signaling him to go first.

"Molly, I need to tell you something. I... all of this...I was not without selfish motives behind my actions these past few weeks." Sherlock began. He took a careful and wary glance her way, and found that she was more curious than hurt or confused, so he continued.

"At first, I felt as though I would be repaying you for the help you granted me during the game against Moriarty."

"But Sherlock, you don't have to..." Molly looked up at him with shocked eyes.

"No, please. Let me finish." He stated fervently. Molly clamped her mouth shut, and nodded for him to go on.

"I wanted to help you realize that I was sorry for giving you so much scrutiny and harsh criticizing over the years we've known each other. I wanted to help you see that you were much more amazing and deserved more than what you or I think. But then...then it became about something else." Sherlock stopped, pausing as he tried to collect his thoughts and form them into a state of order. He didn't dare look her way, not just yet.

"I was selfish, in hoping that as you experienced all these wonderful thrills that you'd always wanted to be a part of, that you would reconsider the options presented to you. I wanted to make you see why you should stay. I wanted to...I wanted to be the _reason _you stayed, Molly." He looked slowly up, not recalling when his head had dropped down to fix his gaze on the rocky shore. Her brown eyes were as wide as an owl's, and he could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to figure it all out.

"Sherlock..." Molly said slowly, her voice coming out in a croaky half-whisper.

"Yes?"

"I... you really don't know how much I care about you, do you?" Her voice had a bit more strength behind it the second time she spoke, and her words had obviously been more powerful than she realized, causing the consulting genius's neck to almost snap as he looked up at her.

"What?" He asked in astonishment.

"Sherlock, I wasn't ever going to just let a disease slowly kill me. And I was never...no...I _will_ never give up on you. I would have done treatment, or surgery, or therapy...whatever it took. As it stands now though, none of those are even options to consider anymore. Sherlock, I don't have cancer."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

SAY WHAT NOW?! Hm...didn't expect that coming, now did you? Okay, so I lied about something early on in this story. I said it'd be like 5 chapters...yea...I got one more in me. :D SORRY! (Only I'm not, because cliff hangers are so much fun.) Right-o folks. Tell me what you thought of this chapter, and what you think is gonna happen next chapter...because I like predictions. ;) THANKS FOR READING, MY LOVELIES!


	7. Chapter 7

Well, okay, I couldn't wait to write this chapter...considering it's the last installment of this story. Don't worry...it's a good one...and probably longer. We'll see. YAY WINGING IT! ;) (Just kidding)

**Okey dokey, I DON'T OWN ANYTHING! NOOOOOOOOOOOOthing has changed in that aspect. Dang.**

**Enjoy this chapter, dears!**

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"Sherlock, I don't have cancer." She finished, a coy and shy smile gracing her face. Sherlock's eyes popped, as he looked over her.

"How do you know that?" He asked sternly. Molly shied away a bit, before sighing and turning back.

"I got a call the other day from Mike. He said something about the new intern confusing the names on the charts. Apparently 'Cooper' is the new 'Hooper.'" She said with a smile, shrugging her shoulders. Her grin dissipated as she looked at his confused face.

"Sherlock? Are you...you're not angry...are you? I...I tried to tell you, before..." She was getting worried, when he cut her off midstream.

"It was you on the phone. With Mike. He was talking to you. 'She'll be so pleased, won't she?' He didn't mean you, he meant your mother. Of course. 'Thank you for being so understanding...' Then when he tried to tell me you already knew when I asked him to keep it a secret so I could tell you. Of course. So stupid." Sherlock worked out the missing pieces in front of her, placing the last of how he had missed it in his mind. When he looked up, her eyes were wide.

"You knew? You knew and you weren't going to tell me?" She asked incredulously. Sherlock sighed, his head dropping down, before he solemnly nodded in confirmation.

"Sherlock, why were you keeping it a secret? When were you going to tell me this?" Molly crossed her arms at this point, waiting for his immediate answer. The ashamed detective looked slowly up at her, before glancing away again. He mumbled quietly, making Molly shake her head.

"No no. I deserve to know. When. Were. You. Going. To. Tell. Me?" Her voice was firm, strong as she took a step closer to him with each passing word. He huffed out a sigh, before his head flicked up to gaze at her.

"After we completed this trip. After we completed the list. After I was sure that you weren't giving up on your precious life, Molly." He stated, his breath heaving a bit as his emotions flushed out into the open air around them. Sherlock turned away, preparing to walk, no _run_, away from his guilt and her soon to be hatred. However, he felt the smooth curve of her hand pulling on his arm, beckoning him to turn around.

"Sherlock? You...you wanted to help with my bucket list, even when you knew I had more time?" She asked carefully. His only response was a nod, still not turning to see her. He soon felt a light crash into his back, and two thin and frail arms tightly hugging around his stomach. He looked down to see her hands intertwined with each other at his middle, clinging to his shirt as she embraced him. A deep sigh of relief shot through Sherlock's entire body, and he smiled a bit to himself, before turning around. The rain drops had just started to fall onto their heads, and so they began back toward the car. Molly's face was glowing with happiness as she looked over to him. The cool breeze blew past them both, causing Molly to shiver once more. Sherlock chuckled, before grabbing her hand in his own and forcing them to race back to the car, just as the showering rain beat down onto their skin. They were only slightly wet by the time they got into the car, and they quickly slammed the doors shut. Sherlock reached back into the back seat, pulling up his suit jacket, and covered Molly with it. She smiled, her teeth chattering from the cold. They were soon on the road, driving back to the warm buildings and electricity of London.

OoOo

Just an hour outside the city, they had stopped to refuel. Sherlock had gone in to pay, leaving Molly to her own devices. It was only natural that she would get out and stretch her legs. The suit coat the hung from her shoulders was much too big for her, but it kept her warm enough. _And it smelled like him._ She decided to walk around the car a bit, stretching her arms high into the air, and standing on her tip toes, alleviating the tension that had coiled up inside her muscles. As she descended back to her normal posture, her hands flopped into the pockets of Sherlock's suit. As she pulled them back out, a piece of paper came tumbling out with the button of the sleeve. Molly chased it down as the light breeze blew it around the station's parking lot. Finally, she caught it, and clutched it in her hands. As she unfolded it, her face paled with the dark and bold lettering at the top.

**'Bucket-full-of-Holes'**

She felt all sorts of things collide and mix in her stomach and her chest. _Confusion. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. Stupid._

Molly didn't think she could face him, and so she began doing the first impulsive thing that came to mind. Molly began to walk home. Oh, she had only managed to get about 20 feet down the road before Sherlock caught up with her.

"Molly! What the hell are you doing?" He asked loudly, his baritone carrying on the wind like it owned it. She stopped, and turned to face him. Her look was poisonous.

"This was _not_ part of our list, Sherlock. Why the _bloody hell_ do you have this list?" She asked, tossing the wadded up paper at his head. It hit him square in the face, before bouncing off and landing in his awaiting hand. He looked wholly confused, before his demeanor switched entirely, showing just as much venom as she had.

"Yes, this wasn't part of our compiled list, you are right. But it has _everything _to do with me, Molly. That first item was scratched out when I found it. Your first dance. _I_ gave that to you. The rest are things that you've wanted in your life. Things far more meaningful and important than a bloody camping trip or visit to that terrible wax museum. This is the important list, your _real_ list. I felt if I were going to help you complete this task, if I were to _truly_ convince you of the things you'd be missing, it would be on. That. List. And I was right. Now, Helped you complete two of the tasks on there. Let me help with the rest. I can't guarantee anything, and you know that I can't. But Molly, I want to try." Sherlock's tone was biting. His conviction heavy in the words that he practically spat at her. Molly was watching him bitterly as he approached her, until she was finally looking up at him. He towered over her, mere inches away from her face.

"What do you mean, you've helped me with two? That dance thing was the only one I've scratched off. I've not even looked at that note since that night, and now I guess I know why. Because it was _missing_." Molly said through gritted teeth. Sherlock unfolded the crinkled paper, before shoving it into her hand.

"Read it." He bit out, before pulling away from her. Molly looked down at the note through her teary eyes, to see the note in its new state.

_1. My first Dance. _

_**Crossed out.**  
_

_2. Be held by someone who loves me._

**_Crossed out._**

_3..._

Molly looked over it again and again. The line that she hadn't put there, crossed right over the top of her second item. It took her almost five times reading it over before it finally clicked in her head.

_Oh my god._

"Sherlock?" the small woman murmured, looking up at him. He was now about a foot away from her, his hands ruffling manically through his chocolatey curls. The stress and...insecurity, on his face was almost too much for her to bear. She looked at the note again, making sure the line was still there.

"Sherlock! You look at me right now!" Molly yelled out in her angry voice. He looked up, shocked at her still apparent state of rage. However, he wasn't met with a piercing glare, or a slap to the face. He wasn't even greeted with more cursing or insistent yelling. Instead, Sherlock looked up, and was instantly being pulled down by the wrinkles in his shirt to Molly's level. He half expected a knee to the groin from the way it started. Still, no. The only pain he felt was the blood rushing past his ears as it left his brain, all caused by the searing kiss that she was giving him. He had tried to assert some train of thought, anything really. Sadly, she had robbed him of his ability to think, with the way her teeth softly gnawed on his lower lip. Her tongue passing over the slight grooves left behind had given Sherlock no help in the area of control either, and when he heard a honk from a passing car, he realized that _she_ had backed them up to the side of the nearby building. Finally, after the lack of oxygen was in detrimental need of replenishment, Molly pulled away.

"You...you _love_ me?" She asked, her voice still sounding angry with disbelief. Her breath was short, but it still managed to push out the importance of her question. Sherlock grabbed her gently by her shoulders, and leaned down so his forehead rested with hers.

"Molly Hooper, you make it damned near impossible not to love you. I've loved you for far longer than I've realized, and I intend to spent an _enormous_ amount of time making up for it, list or no list." He muttered with a gravelly tone, his air supply not quite returned to normal. Molly smiled at this, and gave him a much kinder kiss, one devoid of the desperation its predecessor had contained.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, Molly?" Sherlock asked in return.

"Can we go back to London now? There's a few items on that list I think we could work on." She said with a coy, yet seductive grin. Sherlock was quick with pulling her back toward the car, before getting in and driving back to the large city, his foot a bit harder on the pedal than before.

OoOo

Molly curled up into his side, clinging to him for warmth, and for the simple fact that she _could_. Sherlock was currently staring at the ceiling, his sharp expression relaxed, looking quite pleased with himself, as well as the beautiful woman sharing his bed. Soon, Molly rolled out of the covers, and crossed the room. Sherlock sat up a bit, watching her nude form bend over to pick something off the floor. He smiled as he knew what she was going for.

Soon, Molly returned to the large bed and comforter, note and pen in hand. She smiled as she uncapped it, and dragged the ball point across the third item.

_3. Feel truly beautiful for once._

She was about to drag it through the smaller sized note that had been lightly written on the page further down, when Sherlock snagged the pen from her grip.

"Hey!" She started, before she was cut off with his lips on hers. He kissed her slowly, just as he pulled the pen across the item in question, crossing it off the list as well.

"I'd like to do the honors on that one." He growled lowly into her ear, before pulling the note from her hand as well, setting it aside for later. Molly chuckled, before allowing him to show her a few _new_ ways to live.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

AAAAAAAAAAAANNNND...that's the end! I hope you liked it a lot! I had a Moffat moment earlier in this chapter, where I very well could have killed Molly off, just as an evil final plot twist. But this story was upon request from my dearest Aditi, and she DID specify a happy ending...so you have her to thank for the good fortunes. :D I hope you enjoyed it, leave me a final review so I know what you all thought!

I just wanted to thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, as well as following and favoriting both the story and me as an author. That's just really amazing, and I know I can never get down all the names of all of you who have supported me, both new readers and old. You're just, so spectacular, and I am so glad to have you as friends! :D

Thanks again! Look for more stories coming soon, because boy howdy, the plot bunnies are just GOING AT IT lately! Lol. Right, LATERS LOVELIES!


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